Wanderer
by Soultastic
Summary: He lives his life day by day, aimlessly seeking to fill in the blanks. Short, drabble-like format.
1. leaving

**[leaving]**

Summertime's when he makes his decision.

(Of course, to him it was still winter. On the mountain, there were no seasons, only the cold.)

It wasn't easy.

Yes, the mountain was cold. No, he didn't enjoy watching his Pokémon die slowly, day by day, as they endured the god-forsaken blizzards together.

But, he couldn't give it up.

Battling.

For, it makes his blood boil, sends surges of adrenaline through his veins like quicksilver; for a few, glorious moments, he felt like _himself_ again. The memories are returning, knowledge coming forth from nothing – his name, it was –

Then, the enemy is defeated, their last Pokémon faints, and the high fades away, leaving only that familiar emptiness.

He needs those highs; he's addicted to it, for it is a drug, ensnaring him in its clutches and refusing to let him go.

He clutches his cap, ragged and worn; the holes, the grime deep-seated into the fabric, the thin threads of cloth unraveling in his hands – he feels it all. He could say, with little confidence, that it had once been red.

 _Red eyes, staring back at him in the mirror._

 _(What had happened to the brown?)_

His uncovered hair, matted and oily, lifts under the cool (freezing) wind. It feels refreshing to his scalp, covered for so long.

 _What is my purpose?_

His grip on the fabric grows tighter as he continues to think, arguing with himself pointlessly, going in spirals and spirals and _spirals_.

 _But I have to keep them safe._

 _Keep who safe?_

A soft sound, one that he barely manages to catch.

"Pika…"

 _-Please…-_

He was a fool, wasn't he?

Why had he stayed for so long?

Like so many other things, he couldn't remember.

Only, this was a question he didn't want to answer.

* * *

The next day, he's gone, the only trace of his presence a fluttering red jacket.

* * *

 **[notes]**

The prologue.


	2. bloodshot

**[bloodshot]**

Another snippet of memory, another stab of agony.

It's dark out – he's in an office, one that looks eerily familiar. Stacks of paper cover every inch of his desk, and Pikachu was asleep on some paperwork, crumpling and tearing it with every fidget and snore. He would do something about it, but he's completely out of energy.

He swivels in his chair, turning to face his clock, and notices the time. _1:00 AM._

No wonder why he's so tired.

(It's because he's missing _her_.)

It's been too long since they've talked, and he's beginning to wonder if they would ever meet again. After all, they lived separate lives, save for a random encounter or two; famous people _have to_ interact, right?

When he finally musters up the energy to get out of his comfortable leather chair and into his room, he stares at his reflection in the mirror, for something's out of place.

His eyes are not the warm shade of brown he remembers, the only inheritance he has left from his mother; no, instead, it is a deep red, one that fractured off into the whites of his eyes and left traces of blood.

( _He wipes his hand across his face, and pulls it away wet._

 _Tears were troublesome._ )

* * *

 **[notes]**

Almost nothing changed here.

When I was rereading the old chapters, I noticed this was rather redundant with red, so I "merged" them.


	3. confusion

**[confusion]**

He signals Pikachu, who instantly understands his intentions. Their bond at play again, forged through mutual hardship, strengthened by the test of time.

Lightning crackles along its fur, and suddenly, a bolt of lightning - a Thundershock - explodes from it, arcing through the air and striking down the enemy Dragonite. It falls slowly, fighting the inevitable pull of gravity.

It's about to hit the ground, for its exhaustion has overtaken it, when it's grabbed quickly by a red beam of light.

"Have a good rest, Dragonite; you battled hard."

Red watches in silence as the Trainer, thick rivulets of tears running down his face, throws the prize money at his feet and walks away, back hunched.

For some reason, he feels like apologizing.

(God, where did the guilt _come from?_ )

Grey eyes, locked in an accusatory glare; _No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to –_

He balls up his hand into a fist as Pikachu hops back onto his shoulder once more, nesting herself comfortably.

Why was he even battling in the first place? He left the mountain precisely to escape this, and yet he found himself partaking in yet another battle.

 _A high-five – hair, long and lustrous, tucked under a cap – falling, falling,_ falling _… - a scream –_

He clutches to the precious memories as long as he could, enveloping himself in his past before they flutter away in the wind, like so many other things.

(He can't let go of her.)

(But he has to.)

* * *

 **[notes]**

Changed a few references to be a little more generic.


	4. dirty

**[dirty]**

It is in the middle of the night, and he tosses and turns, clawing at his chest, screaming for someone, _anyone_ , to save him.

A dark laugh.

He awakes with a fright, only to see his trusty Pokémon asleep and the ashes of last night's campfire.

The sight of the grey powder sparks another memory inside of him, but he suppresses it, unwilling to deal with more nightmares.

(My name is Red.)

* * *

 **[notes]**

Not much changed here. Still pretty short.


	5. colors

**[colors]**

He's walking in a museum when he hears a tour guide, excitedly pointing out a specific exhibit. He squints, trying to get a better view of what exactly she's looking at. Suddenly, vibrant colors invade his field of vision, forcing him to look away and break eye contact.

He looks more closely and sees that it's a Pokémon feather, with the caption _Ho-Oh_ underneath it. The rainbow plumage shines iridescently as it catches the light; the tourists _ooh_ and _aah_ , but he's stuck in another memory, and he can't break free.

 _Rain, thunder, storm clouds –_

 _A bolt of lightning –_

 _The screech of Spearow –_

 _Exhaustion –_

 _A bike on the ground, completely fried –_

 _Clouds parting –_

 _A bird, majestic in its beauty._

He sits down on a bench hard, his mind overwhelmed by the sudden presence of colors.

After all, on the mountain, everything was grey and white.

(Or had the world been colorless from the start?)

* * *

 **[notes]**

I was trying to rewrite bias, and then _this_ happened.

I'll get around to actually rewriting it later.


	6. peak

**[peak]**

They call him champion, legend.

They know nothing.

* * *

The media attention was amazing, at first; he had basked in it, like the fool he was. It was only after they started to accost him on the streets, break into his home (the deranged ones, at least), relentlessly pursue his mother and ask her personal questions that stirred up nothing but bad memories, that he knew that he had to leave.

With power comes responsibility, but he knew nor wanted none of the latter while seeking the former. Then again, he was only fourteen when he first achieved the status of Champion, and fifteen when he was crowned the "Pokémon Master."

Master of Pokémon? Master of None was a much better title, for it truly captured his idiocy. Although the history books may record his achievements, the names of he and his family (both human and Pokémon), they will never discuss the price, all he had to give up to reach this point. For, in his mad pursuit of power, he threw away everything that was precious to him; his friends, his family, his future. He hated _them_ for treating their Pokémon like nothing but tools, yet here he was, doing the _same exact thing._

Sometimes, when the temperature dropped below freezing and his teeth chattered, his hands froze inside his pockets, he wondered what life could have been like.

Surely better than this.

How long had it been? Three, four years?

He missed them all, whoever they had been.

Truth be told, his memory was fading away, lost to the wind like everything else he had once coveted.

Yes, it was their (her) good, but god damn, he was _fucking lonely._

(Blue hair – lips lightly brushing – clasped hands.)

He shed a single tear.

The next morning, he knows nothing.

(He's become one of them.)

* * *

 **[notes]**

The last of the older, rewritten chapters. Written in a somewhat different style (way more words than usual).


	7. snow

**[snow]**

He hates the snow.

It reminds him of the mountain, of his hardships. Of his missing memories, the holes that would never be completely filled.

Yet, why does he feel the urge to jump into it?

 _Laughter._

 _"_ _Come on, Ash! Have some fun!"_

 _"_ _Pika!"_

He shakes his head.

Those memories, they don't belong to him. His name is Red, not Ash. He lets the memory go, slip through his fingers like the snow he's clutching in his hand.

He shapes it into a ball and throws it at a nearby tree; the snow falls off of the barren branches, leaving the tree an ugly brown blot on the beautiful white.

He's suddenly entered a frenzy; he forms and throws snowball after snowball, nailing every single tree. It's sunset by the time he's finished.

Every single tree is exposed.

And he remembers.

* * *

 **[notes]**

First "new" chapter.


	8. rant

**[rant]**

* * *

 **[before you read...]**

I tried something different this chapter. I'm not sure whether it worked (or even made sense). I'd recommend you skip it.

* * *

He's so tired.

They all expect so much.

He's done.

They don't believe him. He's said the words so many times, threatened to leave, but he hasn't. They don't think he will.

He does. The wind chills his skin, numbing his extremities; he tries to pull his hat down.

It fails.

He's so lonely.

Why can't he just make a normal friend?

Why did they have to tease, to annoy?

Couldn't they just _leave him alone?_

How in the world were those people "friends," anyways?

It was all fun and games for them. It was fun hurting him, teasing him, making a mockery of him.

 _He_ was the scapegoat. No one else.

 _He_ was gay. _He_ was straight. _He_ was desperately in love with a girl. _He_ was she.

No one else.

...

Why did everyone hate him so?

Why did they discriminate

why

...

why

He writes it all down on the paper

He drops the pen

He's broken

It's too cold

I'm sorry mom

Please, leave before it's too late

WHY

I JUST

STOP ANNOYING ME

She doesn't love me, does she

It's all a lie

Fingers tingling

Heartbreak

Leave

LEAVE ME ALONE

She leaves

Warmth gone

Blood flowing

Tears, tears, nothing but tears

The taste of metal, who knew

They don't care

 ** _Broken._**

I give up

protect? they can fend for themselves

but if he was broken, if he didn't care

then why did it hurt so much?

He stands up and leaves

...

He's a shell.


	9. accident

**[accident]**

It's wintertime when it happens.

Hands in his pockets, tattered red jacket barely warm enough to keep out the cold, not that he minds it. After years on the mountain, the cold means _nothing_ to him.

He continues to trudge through the snow coating the sidewalk. Lost in his own world, he almost misses it. Only the sudden rattling of his Pokéballs jolts him enough to realize that he's hearing the sound of screeching tires and someone's screaming –

It clips him in the side.

He's thrown into the air, and the world shatters before his eyes, turning into a kaleidoscope of color.

He hits the ground hard, tumbling into a snow bank on the side of the road. They're gathering around him, the pedestrians, and he hears voices _(call an ambulance!)_ but it's too late, because he feels the blood soaking through his jacket, blending in with the red.

It's… peaceful.

The snow, gently settling in the crevices of his face.

Maybe he'll see them again?

Whoever they were.

The world fades to black.

* * *

 _The feeling of weightlessness._

 _Beep. Beep._

" _Clear!" The dull thud of a body on pavement._

" _Clear!" Again._

 _The acrid smell of burnt skin._

"… _I don't think he's going to make it…"_

"… _poor child… so young…"_

 _The sounds muddle together, and he is left alone in the darkness, with naught but the erratic beating of his heart to keep him company._

 _He feels something tugging at him, beckoning him to follow. He ignores it at first, but it is persistent, and he eventually yields to its pull._

 _Fragments of what he had once been. They swallow him._

 _The memories begin to play, like a broken record._

* * *

 _Her laugh rings in his ears, bright and melodic, as she hugs him tightly._

" _Never leave me." Her smell, fresh and clean, so_ damn _intoxicating._

" _Ok." He feels her smile against his chest, and he pulls her closer.  
_

 _(As if he ever would want to, anyways.)_

* * *

" _I'm going to become a Pokémon Master!" A declaration made without thought, a dream he would most likely never achieve._

 _Yet, she still smiled at him, giving him the courage necessary to start what would become a six-year journey._

 _(She was always there.)_

* * *

 _They're sitting around a campfire; it's been over a month since they last met, but coincidentally enough, they happen to run into each other in Viridian Forest, him heading towards the city (and his last badge), her catching Pokémon to fill up her Pokédex._

 _She asks him to go camping with her, and before he can reply, she drags him off, deeper into the forest. Inevitably, they cuddle._

 _He doesn't protest._

 _He never does._

" _Tell me a story."_

" _Ok." He could never refuse her anything, even if it meant tearing out his own heart._

 _After all, how could someone ever say "no" to their entire world?_

* * *

" _WHY?" He clutches his mother's corpse in his hands, feeling the warm tears trickle down his face. He tries to rouse her in the smoldering remains of what had once been their home._

 _He's too late._

 _His mother is dead._

 _Then,_ she _comes, and the world seems alright again, because her arms are wrapped around his waist and their tears are mixing together, falling as one._

 _He realizes something that day._

 _He's not alone._

* * *

" _I'm sorry. We can't be friends anymore." The words leave a bitter taste in his mouth._

" _But… but why?" Her heartbroken expression makes him want to take it all back, to embrace her and feel the familiar warmth, but he knows that he has to do this._

" _Because you're worthless to me. I never loved you. Now leave, before I force you to." Mixed in with the lies were the slightest hints of the truth, of what he really thought._

 _Power was reliable, always there for him. Him, over everyone else._

 _He roughly shoves her away, leaving her sobbing on the ground, and leaves without a second glance._

 _The confused expression on Charizard's face almost breaks him, but he knows how to hold in his tears, so he chooses to throw his last memory of her into the ocean, leaving himself blank._

* * *

 _He feels the sweet taste of success as he stands over Cynthia, for_ he's _the Champion,_ he's _the winner,_ he's _the one in charge, finally._

 _(He suppresses the thoughts of what he had left behind to get here, for they were unimportant; at least, that's what he told himself.)_

 _Now, time for the ceremony._

* * *

 _It's cold and lonely on the mountain._

 _He's sorry._

 _But it's too late. It's too late now, now that she's gone, now that he's alone._

"… _forgive me…"_

 _His whispers are lost to the howling wind._

* * *

Although he doesn't know it, she's whispering to him too, even now, when he's half-dead and slipping into a coma. Words spoken in private, meant only to be heard by the ghost of who he had once been.

"I miss you, Ash."

* * *

 **[notes]**

Hey.

Before you ask, yes, the beginning sounds like the prologue, because symbolism.

And the (not so hidden) romance has been revived.


	10. remembering

**[remembering]**

It's cold. So very cold.

Why can't he move?

Why is the world -

\- spinning?

He slips under again.

* * *

The last time he wakes up (he's been asleep for long, _too_ long), he's not too sure where he is.

 _Beep._

For some reason, there's two voices in his head. One is blunt and hoarse from disuse; gray, like steel. The other is bright and cheerful, enthusiastic, sunshine and daisies.

He's not quite sure which is his.

The blazing fire, or the ashes left behind.

He glances at his reflection in the window, and shattered eyes stare back; flecks of brown stand out against the red.

He can't seem to look away.

 _Red..._

 _Ash._

It begins to rain.

And then, he remembers.

 _Dawn_.

* * *

When the nurses come, they find an empty bed, its occupant long gone.

* * *

 **[notes]**

Yes, I'm back.

The ship (if it wasn't obvious enough...) is revealed! Almost, complete now.

 **[btw...]**

This chapter's been rewritten to fit a little bit better with the rest of the story in tone and style.


	11. thinking

**[thinking]**

"Are you okay, mister?"

A girl, perhaps twelve or thirteen. Her blue eyes shine with curiosity, reflecting an innocence that he'd lost a long time ago.

The weariness has set in his bones.

He does not reply.

"Mister?" Those eyes remind him of someone else's. That soft, deep colour, rich in affection...

 _Sort of_. She barely hears the response; his voice is hoarse and gravelly from disuse.

"What's wrong?"

 _I... left._

"What do you mean, you left?"

 _I ran away from her. It's been a long, long time._

She understands, now.

"Why don't you just go home, then? I bet she's waiting for you." She winks at him, and suddenly, her gaze isn't so childish or innocent. Maybe, _maybe_ , this child understands what he could not - perhaps, it is not naivete speaking.

She leaves him there, a boy who's lost years of his life to dreams and tragedy.

* * *

 **[note]**

Next is the "final" chapter.


	12. ghost

**[ghost]**

He's shoving his way through the crowd, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of her before it's too late.

He _won't_ be late.

(Except he already is, for his time is long gone.)

Another ten minutes pass before he finally makes it to the front of the pit. He feels out-of-place amongst the crowd of screaming pre-teens and socialites; they're dressed in fresh clothing, whilst he still wears his hospital garb and tattered jacket.

(His hat is gone.)

He sees her -

and stares. (Why won't she look at him?)

She's different; the excitable girl, prone to bursting out with joy - _a cheerleader_ , he remembers - replaced by something that could have been hewn from granite.

Cold. Emotionless.

Ice queen.

She only notices him halfway through the battle; perhaps, she could feel his eyes. She turns, and meets his gaze.

(The red is starting to recede.)

She stops moving.

(The fractures...)

As she's stopped battling, the opponent quickly wraps up the battle and is declared the winner. She couldn't care less.

Muttering starts.

(...are beginning to heal.)

But strangely enough, her gaze...

(Outside, a man curses as he fumbles with a small box; he drops it, and a small band of metal, adorned with a sparkling diamond, tumbles out.)

...holds no recognition.

* * *

 **[note]**

I'm going to call this story complete. Might post one more chapter, an epilogue of sorts, but I just want to wrap this up.


End file.
